


the september issue

by bookbug99



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, M/M, Mutual Pining, Seoul Fashion Week, side hansol/seungkwan, side soonyoung/wonwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookbug99/pseuds/bookbug99
Summary: Minghao is the youngest photographer to ever shoot the cover of the September Issue, the most important fashion magazine of the year, for Vogue Korea. He's terrified. And then Kim Mingyu walks onto the soundstage to model for the cover, and everything changes.





	the september issue

 

Fashion should be a form of escapism,

and not a form of punishment.

-alexander mcqueen

  
  


“Minghao?”

 

Minghao looks up from the proofs littering his desk at the sound of the editor-in-chief’s voice. Seungcheol is leaning against his office door, his arms crossed. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but the photoshoot starts in ten minutes.”

 

Right. The cover photoshoot for the September issue, which happens to be the biggest issue the magazine puts out all year. This also happens to be the first year Minghao is the main cover photographer -- which has definitely not led to near-daily nightmares about one of the lenses on his camera breaking or the set going up in flames.

 

This is his big break, and Minghao can’t afford to screw this up.

 

“I’ll be there,” he promises.

 

Seungcheol grins his perfect smile. “Room 133,” and with a twirl he exits the room, leaving Minghao alone in his office with a pile of unfinished proofs and a growing sense of anxiety.

 

He manages to clean up his desk, throw away his empty coffee cups, and grab his photo supplies. Minghao exhales. 

 

As he steps into the hallway, someone runs behind him. Minghao turns at the sound of loafers clicking against the floor, to see Lee Chan standing there, a bundle of papers in his hands.

 

“Be careful,” Minghao says, managing to avoid collision.

 

“Sorry, hyung,” Chan says. “You’re on your way to the cover photoshoot, right? Congratulations!”

 

Minghao offers him a polite smile. Chan is one of this summer’s interns, about to start his final year at Esmod Seoul, and like most interns, he’s prone to over-enthusiasm and inserting himself into conversations. But Chan also has a gift with patterns; Minghao’s seen his design samples, and thinks their intern will probably be running this magazine someday.

 

“Thank you, I’m very nervous,” Minghao says, as they turn down a hallway. The walls are painted white and decorated with framed back issue covers, and from the spacious windows they can see into the bustling streets of Gangnam-gu.

 

“Hyung, don’t be nervous,” Chan says. “You’re going to be amazing.”

 

Minghao tries to smile. The photoshoot is taking place in a large portrait studio, and by the time the two of them reach the door, the corridor is crowded. It’s a crush of people: assistants carrying cameras, stylists with racks of clothes, the camera directors consulting the shot lists, makeup artists waving brushes around. Before a photoshoot begins, it’s always chaos. Chan disappears to go bother some other hapless employee.

 

He begins setting up his cameras, talking to the assistant directors, and consulting his shot list. There’s a noise behind him, and Minghao turns to see Joshua Hong, Vogue Korea’s art director, with a winning smile.

 

“The shoot hasn’t gone completely off the rails yet,” Joshua says in American-accented Korean. He’s from California, and used to work at American Vogue, before transferring halfway across the globe to be closer to his family. “It’s your first cover shoot, isn’t it? Congratulations, dude.” He claps Minghao on the back, and Minghao tries not to grimace.

 

“I love the way the outer space concept turned out,” Joshua continues. He gestures towards the makeup artists, where Hani is applying half a gallon of glitter to hapless models, and towards the backdrop: a black sky arranged with sparkling silver stars.

 

Minghao’s spent the last month in creative meetings about the cover, where Seungcheol showed NASA images of space, Jeonghan made snarky jokes about branding, Seungkwan and Hansol pretended not to flirt, Joshua, Seulgi, and Yoona discussed concept ideas, and Minghao tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that said  _ you’re going to fail. _

 

“Were all the models approved?” Minghao asks as he readjusts the shutter. They’d spent a month looking through headshots, needing to find the perfect fit for the biggest issue of the year, and hopefully discover the next Sora Choi.

 

“Yes,” Joshua says. He points towards the wardrobe area, where a group of models are standing in front of mirrors and being examined underneath Seungkwan’s watchful eye. “You remember Han Seung Soo from the royal photoshoot a few months back, of course. And the lovely Im Jinah, who I worked with in China last year.”

 

“Who did Seungcheol pick for the third model?” They may have offered preferences, but Seungcheol is the one who makes all final decisions regarding casting. Joshua’s face lights up.

 

“He managed to get one of the best It models in the country,” he explains. “Like the new Hyomi Kang or Alexa Chung. Kim Mingyu.”

 

“How did he manage that?” Minghao asks, making certain the preselected camera filters are arranged. He’s never met a Kim Mingyu, let alone heard that he’s apparently making waves as a model.

 

“Mingyu was just on the cover of Elle Korea, last month he was in Cosmopolitan, and Givenchy asked him to be a runway model for Paris Fashion Week.” Joshua grins. “Cheollie knows the Elle editor, and managed to book him for the September issue.”

 

Minghao is impressed, but there’s no way he’ll show that. Pretty-boy models who are on top of the world, literally and figuratively, are the worst people to work with because they’re so far up their own egos.

 

At that moment, Seulgi, the creative director, approaches Joshua with some new crisis, and the two of them head to the corner to determine who to murder for the latest mishap. Minghao finishes his camera presets, double-checks the shot list, and helps the assistant directors prepare the two smaller cameras to make certain they’re connected to the screens.

 

Cover photoshoots tend to be a lot of standing around and waiting for three to four days, with intermediate breaks for photos and retouching makeup. Minghao walks towards the racks of clothing, figuring he can bother Seungkwan before they officially start shooting. 

 

Seungkwan is standing in front of a rack of pristinely-tailored suits, holding a collection of ties in his other hand. Behind him are three models sitting in chairs, getting fitted in designer clothes.

 

“How are you, Seungkwan?” Minghao asks.

 

Seungkwan pulls a hairpin out of his mouth and says, “Stressful,” in his usual dramatic fashion.

 

Minghao laughs. “So the usual,” he says.

 

“Exactly,” Seungkwan says. He holds up two suit jackets, one a sparkly blue, and the other white with subtle navy pinstripes. “Which of these indicates space royalty better?”

 

“I choose sparkles,” Minghao says.

 

“Will it photograph well with the background? I’m worried--”

 

“Yes, Seungkwan.” Minghao leans over and gives him a hug. “Everything will be fine.” 

 

Seungkwan sighs into his arms and says, “Honestly, Minghao, it’s one of those days where I consider just running off into the wilderness and becoming a sheep herder.”

 

“I feel like you would be a bad sheep herder,” Minghao says.

 

“Anything’s possible,” Seungkwan says as he releases his vice-like grip.

 

Seungkwan was one of the first people Minghao met when he started working at Vogue. They were close in age, meaning that they actually understood how to run the magazine Snapchat and knew the same memes. Seungkwan is charming and funny and everyone loves him, even with his overdramatic antics. 

 

“You should come meet the models,” Seungkwan says, taking Minghao’s hand and dragging him towards the three models. “This is our lovely photographer, Xu Minghao,” he says, “a genius and a scholar, who’s going to make you all look even more stunning than usual.”

 

Minghao hides his face in his hands, but manages a polite hello. Han Seung Soo, dressed in a pinstriped suit, gives him a weak smile. Im Jinah has a brighter reaction, saying, “Hello, Minghao-ssi, it’s lovely to work with you.”

 

Kim Mingyu gives Minghao a huge smile. He’s clearly the youngest of the three models, with a baby face that even a sharp jawline can’t hide. “It’s amazing to meet you,” he says. 

 

Minghao realizes he’s staring for a moment too long, at Mingyu’s bright smile and wide eyes and the silver necklace dangling around his neck. He’s beautiful, with the type of face that makes for the perfect model, expressive enough for photoshoots and stoic enough for the runway. 

 

He needs to stop staring. 

 

“Anyway,” Seungkwan says, “Minghao is very busy, so we’ll let him get back to his work.” Han Sung Soo and Im Jinah offer polite goodbyes, but Mingyu is still staring intently.

 

“Goodbye, Minghao-ssi,” he yells, and Minghao can’t help but break into a smile. He turns and watches Mingyu for another moment too long.

 

Seungkwan heads back towards the wardrobe collection, only to be accosted by one Chwe Hansol, who’s holding a clipboard in one hand next to a rack of suits. Hansol is the baby-faced  public relations assistant, fluent in English and Korean, and skilled at eliminating all possible scandals before they strike.

 

“Hansollie,” Seungkwan yells, a huge grin coming across his face. Hansol looks up and says in a dry tone, “I see you’re ignoring all your responsibilities as per usual,” but the smirk on his face betrays his tone.

 

Hansol and Seungkwan have been flirting ever since Minghao has worked at Vogue Korea, and he’s fairly certain half this office has bets placed on when they’ll finally kiss. He lets them flirt next to the costume racks and returns to his cameras.

 

Ten minutes later, the models are ushered out onto the soundstage. The lights are prepared, the background has been double-checked, the models have been sculpted into the designers’ visions. The cameras are ready, and Minghao tries to avoid the way his hands are shaking. 

 

The studio feels cramped and sweaty, with dozens of people crunched into one small area and megawatt lights shining down, leaving the room stiflingly hot. All around, staff members are laughing and talking. Minghao sees Chan in a corner, talking to the deputy design editor, Jennie.

 

There’s a clap, and half the studio turns to see Yoona, Vogue’s photo director, striding forward. As usual, she’s wearing one of her dramatic berets, this one red with black accents. “Thank you for coming, everyone,” she announces. “Let’s begin the shoot.”

 

Minghao feels like he might throw up. He ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach and begins to signal to the assistant camera directors. The three models enter the soundstage, dressed in sparkly suits and in Jinah’s case, a violet dress accented with a long train, and pose. 

 

“Okay,” Minghao says, trying to avoid the way his voice shakes. “Let’s start with the solo shots.”

 

First up is Han Sung Soo, who strides forward with practiced arrogance. Minghao makes certain to do close-up shots on the jewels attached to his suit, and tries his best to sound confident and not terrified as he says, “Turn your head to the right -- yes, further, please, yes, thank you.”

 

His thirteen-year-old self, who didn’t speak a word of Korean, would be shocked to see him here today.

 

Im Jinah is second for the solo shots, steady and practiced. Her earrings twinkle as she shifts her head sideways for the close-up images, and with the skill of a practiced model, she lets the train of her gown flutter underneath her pristine fingers. 

 

After the shots are approved, Jinah returns to the makeup corner to get retouched. Minghao’s hands are shaking by the time Kim Mingyu steps onto the soundstage, wearing a porcelain blue suit that fits him perfectly and a necklace that dangles between his collarbones.

 

He tries (and fails) not to stare. He’s seen so many beautiful models, but something about Kim Mingyu is different.

 

Minghao reaches for the shutter, making certain to get all of Mingyu’s expression in the frame. His hands are shaking, and he reaches to adjust the shutter, only to realize that in his anxiety he’d pushed down too hard on the lens. The lens tumbles off the camera, and collapses to the ground.

 

Every single one of his worst nightmares comes true as Minghao watches the lens fall to the floor, shattering into pieces, a waste of the ten thousand dollars it had cost. The stage is silent except for the sound of broken glass.

 

Minghao can’t even look in Mingyu’s direction.

 

He failed, just like he always thought he would.

  
  


“Wait,” Seokmin says, taking another bite of samgyeopsal. “You saw a cute guy and immediately broke your camera?”

 

Minghao groans. “No, that’s not what happened. I broke a lens and they had to stop the shoot for the day”--

 

Soonyoung raises his fork in the air. “But was he cute?” he asks. “That’s the real question.”

Jun breaks into a devilish smile. “Come on, Hao,” he says, winking, “we just want you to find love.” 

 

Minghao needs better friends. Ever since they graduated from university, the three of them -- and Soonyoung’s boyfriend Wonwoo -- have gone out for lunch every Sunday. Now that they’re adults with responsibilities and jobs, the only time they can all find to meet is on weekends at a hole-in-the wall restaurant.

 

“It was so embarrassing,” Minghao says. “I literally broke my camera in front of him.”

 

“This is how all rom-coms start,” Seokmin says, winking. Minghao loves Seokmin -- they were assigned to be roommates their first year of university and immediately bonded over loving the same movies -- but right now he’d really like to kill him. “I’ll have you know I’m a romance expert, Minghao.”

 

“Right, among five year olds,” he shoots back. Seokmin is a kindergarten teacher, who only wears pastels and spends all day dealing with sticky children.

 

“What I want to know,” Jun says, “is more about this mysterious guy. He’s a model, so obviously he’s in the top 10% of people.”

 

“His name is Kim Mingyu,” Minghao says, because he knows if he doesn’t answer his friends will spend the rest of the meal bothering him about the model’s name. Jun grins and pulls out his smartphone. “Let’s look him up.”

 

Soonyoung and Seokmin lean in next to Jun as he scrolls through image results. “Ooh, Hao, he’s cute,” Jun says. He flips the phone around to show Minghao a picture from one of Mingyu’s photoshoots, where he’s wearing an unbuttoned navy blouse and smoldering directly at the camera.

 

If Minghao stares for a moment too long, he doesn’t say anything. “He looks average,” Minghao answers.

 

Soonyoung raises an eyebrow. “How many attractive people do you see everyday?” he says. “Because I’m in a relationship, and Mingyu could definitely make it onto the exceptions list.”

 

“Ooh, it says he’s an Aries,” Jun says, reading a description. “You’re the same age, Hao. And he’s 6’1, so wall sex won’t be an issue.”

Soonyoung and Seokmin burst into laughter, while Minghao shoots Jun a death glare. Jun just winks.

 

Jun is another one of his favorite people and the very first friend Minghao ever made in Korea. He’d been thirteen, desperately awkward, and missing Haicheng. They’d been in the same history class, Jun a year older, and Minghao had been drowning, unable to understand a word their teacher said. He’d mutter to himself in Mandarin underneath his breath, trying to translate the teacher’s rapid-fire Korean. One day he’d been sitting in class when a note landed on his desk:

 

_ If you need help with translating I can help you,  _ written in perfect Mandarin. Minghao had looked up in shock to see Jun waving. After that, they were friends, even long after Minghao had mastered Korean. 

 

Now Jun works at a dance studio, which is how Minghao met Soonyoung. 

 

“I hate all of you,” Minghao says.

 

“Aww, you love us,” Soonyoung answers, doing his patented adorable face. His phone buzzes.

 

“Is it Wonwoo?” Seokmin asks. The dopey grin spreading across Soonyoung’s face is the answer. Wonwoo usually attends their weekly Sunday catch-up sessions, but he works as a literature professor and is stuck at a scholarship event this weekend.

 

“I’m just saying, Hao,” Jun says. “We’re going to help you find love.”

 

“That’s right,” Seokmin says, grabbing Minghao’s hand. “Operation Find Xu Minghao True Love.” Soonyoung and Jun cheer.

 

Minghao rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He really does have the best friends in the universe.

  
  


Minghao returns to work on Monday for the second day of the photoshoot, feeling embarrassed. Everyone saw him publicly screw up. Seungcheol will probably remove him from the cover photoshoot, he’ll be forced to flee the Vogue Korea offices, and he’ll become a horror story passed down to the next generation.

 

_ Remember that idiot photographer who literally broke his camera in front of everyone? _

Despite his worries, no one seems to care. Josh claps him on the back and says, “Ready for another hard day of work,” Seungcheol reminds him of their upcoming deadlines, and Seungkwan is more interested in discussing the latest plot twists in his favorite drama than Minghao’s impending failure.

 

“Hey,” a voice says behind him. 

 

Minghao turns to see Kim Mingyu standing there with a small smile. He’s bare-faced, which makes him look younger but not any less beautiful, and wearing casual clothes that cling to his body. He’s tall, Minghao realizes, standing next to him, and tries to ignore the way that makes him feel.

 

“I wanted to apologize,” Mingyu says.

 

“About what?” Minghao continues adjusting the lenses, double-checking each one to avoid the same disaster happening.

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mingyu says, “and break your camera.”

 

“You didn’t break my camera,” Minghao says.

 

“I startled you, though.” Mingyu shuffles back and forth on his feet, and Minghao tries and fails to not stare at his collarbones. “And I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Minghao-ssi.”

 

“It’s okay. It was my own fault.” Minghao sighs. “And just call me Minghao, please, we’re the same age.”

 

Mingyu’s face breaks out into a perfect smile. He has amazing teeth, and his grin makes him look like an enthusiastic puppy. “Of course, Minghao! It’s a pleasure to be working with your photographic brilliance.”

 

Minghao rolls his eyes without malice. “Thank you, but I’m sure you’ve worked with tons of incredible photographers before.”

 

“I heard this is your first time shooting the September issue,” Mingyu says, “and that you’re the youngest person to ever be the lead photographer for Vogue Korea.”

 

More reasons to add to Minghao’s failure. But he tries to grin and says, “Yes, it’s an honor.”

 

“It’s a pleasure working with you,” Mingyu grins. Minghao finds himself smiling. Something about Mingyu’s beautifully chaotic energy makes him fun to be around. 

 

In the distance, Hani calls Mingyu’s name.

 

“I’d better get back to makeup,” Mingyu says. “But seriously, don’t worry about the camera. I’m sure the shoot will turn out amazing.”

 

Minghao blushes and waves goodbye. He watches Mingyu walk away, and does not think about what this means.

 

After two hours of shooting (this time, without any sudden disasters), Yoona steps forward and announces the cover photo shoot is complete. There’s a sigh of relief in the room, as everyone begins to gather their things and head for the door. Minghao carefully dissembles his supplies and begins to put the lenses back inside their cases. 

 

“Hey, we’re heading down to Shunmi,” Seungkwan says. This is their tradition every cover shoot: the creative staff gets to eat lunch at a fancy restaurant, paid for by the company.

 

“I’m coming,” Minghao says. He gathers his backpack and finds the rest of the creative team -- Josh, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Selugi, Yoona, Hansol, and Hani -- waiting there.

 

“Minghao,” Seungcheol says, “we’re very proud of you.” Minghao blushes at the compliment.

 

“Are the other three coming?” Josh asks, clearly continuing a conversation he’s missed. 

 

“Jinah texted to say she has a meeting with her manager,” Seungcheol says, consulting his phone, “and Sung Soo is having lunch with investors. Mingyu can come, though.” As if on cue, Mingyu appears around the corner, carrying a backpack.

 

“You invited the models?” Minghao asks. “That’s unusual.”

 

“Mingyu expressed interest,” Jeonghan says with a devilish smile.

 

They begin to exit the building, taking the elevator down nine floors and leaving through the swiveling glass doors. A gust of wind hits as they exit onto the street. 

 

Seoul in May is warm, a nice reprieve from the chills of winter and a precursor to the stifling heat of summer. Gangnam-gu is one of the richest neighborhoods in the city, wealth apparent everywhere one looks, from the Mercedes dealership near the office next to expensive clothing stores and high-end bars, to the luxury cars driving by, and the skyscrapers all around. The street is noisy, with the sounds of stalled traffic and bulldozers roaring in the distance.

 

“It’s down this way,” Seungcheol calls, and as a group, they begin their stride down the road. A group of young twenty-somethings dressed in business attire is not unusual here, where every man and woman is dressed in their finest clothes. 

 

The restaurant is located kitty-corner to the Vogue offices, underneath a blue-tinted skyscraper, with an awning that reads Shunmi. Mingyu strides next to Minghao as they walk inside.

 

“This is your tradition?” he asks.

 

Minghao nods. “Every time we have a cover photoshoot, the entire creative team gets to go out to lunch together.”

 

“I’m glad to be your special guest,” Mingyu says with his puppy-like charm. Minghao finds himself smiling, again.

 

Seungcheol ushers his guests inside, and the waitress leads them to a corner booth. Minghao finds himself next to Mingyu, the two of them close enough in the cramped restaurant that their legs are touching.

 

“What should I order?” Mingyu asks.

 

Minghao flips open his own menu and says, “They have amazing seafood here.”

 

Mingyu nods. Around them, the rest of the Vogue staff are laughing at some inside joke. The restaurant suddenly seems stifling when they’re so close together. “I have a question,” Mingyu asks, “how exactly did you manage to become the youngest photographer to ever do a cover shoot for Vogue Korea?”

 

Minghao sighs. “I’m from China, originally,” he explains. “Haicheng. My family moved to Seoul when I was thirteen.”

 

“Did you know any Korean?” Mingyu asks.

 

“No. It was hard, at first. I started taking pictures of my neighborhood, my friends, the way the sun slid down the sky. It was my solace and my refuge.” Minghao smiles. “I asked for fancy cameras for my birthday. When it came time to apply to university, I knew I wanted to study art, and I majored in photography. I did an internship at Vogue the summer before I graduated, and they hired me once I finished my degree. I was very lucky.”

 

Mingyu nods, and says, “But you’re also very talented. I’ve seen your work before -- the shoot you did with Song Hye-kyo.”

 

“Really?” Minghao’s impressed. “And how did you become a model? They scouted you off the street and said, ‘wow, he’s 6 feet tall, he’s obviously a born model?”

 

Mingyu laughs, revealing those perfect teeth. “No. I loved fashion and wearing ridiculous clothes. I was asked to be in a fashion show in high school for charity and I loved it, so I started working in other shows during the summer. Eventually I was recruited for my charming face.”

 

Minghao laughs.

 

“Where did you get your jacket?” Mingyu asks, fingering the edges of Minghao’s leather jacket. 

 

“It’s from Alexander McQueen,” Minghao says. “This summer collection. I’m trying to diversify my wardrobe for the new season.”

 

The waitress arrives, notepad in hand, and the table quiets as everyone makes their orders. Seungcheol grins, his face wide, and begins one of his typical cheesy but sweet speeches: “Thank you everyone. I’m so proud of you for all of your hard work on this month’s cover. The September Issue is our biggest cover of the year, and we have shown an excellent side to the magazine.”

 

Everyone cheers, and clinks their glasses. Minghao breathes a sigh of relief. He actually survived his first ever cover photoshoot with (minor) injuries. Now comes the hard part, where they get to sit around and debate about font choices.

 

“Congratulations,” Mingyu says, clinking his glass against Minghao’s. He’s even more beautiful in the darkened restaurant, his face lit only by low-hanging lamps. 

 

“Thank you,” Minghao says, and thinks,  _ This is going to be a problem. _

The art gallery is bustling by the time Minghao arrives, exhausted from six hours of editing the cover proofs. He’s thankful there’s champagne, taking a glass from a passing waiter. All around are men and women dressed to the nines, making him feel out of place.

 

People don’t realize how much of the fashion industry is networking.  _ Oh, would you like to see my photographs, they’re at this exhibition in Itaewon. Oh, I’m an up-and-coming designer, I have samples I’d love to show you if you attend this event.  _ The magazine co-sponsors art events in Seoul, including tonight’s, which is an exhibition of clothes from his latest summer collection by Lee Bohyun.

 

He steps further into the crowd, ears ringing at the pulsing music in the background. The magazine cosponsoring these events means he needs to attend to take photographs, even if Minghao would rather be at home rewatching Coffee Prince for the 1011th  time. He sees Seungcheol and Jeonghan in a corner, laughing hysterically, and crosses the room to meet them.

 

“Hi,” he says.

 

“Minghao, I’m so glad you’re here,” Jeonghan says. He’s tied his hair in a ponytail tonight, making him look even more ethereal than usual. “Did you know that Cheollie was in a rap group at university?”

 

“I did not,” Minghao says. Seungcheol’s entire face is red.

 

“Well, I think he should rap for us,” Jeonghan says. He calls to someone in the distance, “Shua-ya, don’t you think Seungcheol should rap for us?” Joshua turns around, champagne glass in hand, and yells back, “Of course.”

 

Jeonghan sends a devilish grin towards Seungcheol, who now looks like an exploded strawberry. “See? This is what the people want.”

 

“Minghao,” Seungcheol says, clearly trying to redirect the conversation, “can you go backstage and make sure that all the models are ready? The show’s going to start in ten minutes.”

 

“No problem,” Minghao says. He pushes through the crowd of people, giving polite responses and smiling, and pushes open the gallery door to find backstage. Backstage is a mess, full of half-made up models and discarded clothes.

 

He finds Lee Bohyun, and the two of them consult the list of models. “Oh, and we have such exciting news tonight,” Lee Bohyun says. He’s in his late fifties, with lined cheeks and a receding hairline, his fingernails painted turquoise. “Guess who we have for our final model of the evening.”

 

“Who?” Minghao says.

 

Lee Bohyun beams. “Kim Mingyu.”

 

Of course. Of course. Minghao bites his tongue and says, “Congratulations, sir.” He manages to escape from backstage in order to find his seats in time. The runway has been set up against the hardwood floors of the studio, folding chairs arranged along both sides. Minghao finds his seat with the rest of the photographers, making sure he has all his supplies.

 

Fashion shows always have a moment of suspense, and then free-fall: the lights dim, and then the music drops. 

 

The first model appears, dressed in a pink off-the-shoulder dress embellished with sequins, her face carefully blank. The silence is broken by the sound of photo lenses clicking. Everyone is taking photos, or angling their iPhone in just the right direction to snap a shot for their brand’s Instagram stories. Mingyu sees the editor of Dazed Korea, Bae Joohyun, carefully taking notes.

 

At first, the noise and the camera flashes had startled him. But now Minghao knows what to photograph: you want the outfit from different angles, and you want to be able to see close-ups and understand the designers’ inspiration. He takes several shots of the sequins on the models’ dress, as well as the lining of her bodice.

 

Fashion shows move fast -- the second one model disappears, their doppleganger appears. You don’t have much time to take photos or write notes: it’s all about in-the-moment reactions. Minghao watches closely, takes close-ups, and blinks underneath the flashing lights.

 

The first and last models are always the most important: typically, these models have the most name-brand recognition and are wearing the centerpieces of the collection. There’s a pregnant pause, as a model wearing a lace gown exits, and the lights dim, leaving the room pitch-black. A slow, sensual song begins to play, and an extravaganza of blue lights shines onto the runway as the last model appears.

 

Minghao knew Mingyu was beautiful. But he didn’t realize, until he saw him walking down the runway, just how beautiful he is. Mingyu’s dressed in a red sweater, with a printed black scarf over the sweater, a chain dangling between his collarbones. Gold studs shine in his ears, and he’s wearing black trousers and sparkling loafers.

 

Minghao can’t stop staring.

 

Mingyu commands the runway. He makes everyone turn and look at him. All around Minghao, people are whispering,  _ he has potential  _ and  _ best model we’ve seen from this collection so far _ . Minghao suddenly feels a surge of jealousy, that he’s not the only one who realizes how beautiful Mingyu really is.

 

He’s breathless. It’s only when the lights flicker back on, that Minghao realizes he hasn’t taken a single photograph.

 

Afterward, the guests mingle around, trading champagne for wine, wheeling and dealing. Minghao drinks his wine and watches as Mingyu walks in his direction, looking sweaty and exhausted but proud.

 

“Hey,” Mingyu says.

 

Minghao wants to say so many things --  _ you’re so beautiful, everyone was watching you _ \-- but he settles for, “You did amazing tonight.” Mingyu’s cheeks blush pink.

 

“Is the wine good?” Mingyu asks, taking a glass from a passing waiter.

 

“Of course. Being a wine snob is my specialty.” Minghao takes another drink, and watches Mingyu watching him.

 

“What was your favorite part of the collection?” Mingyu asks.

 

Minghao could lie, say it was the asymmetrical dresses or the jewelry imported from Rome, but he says the truth: “Your outfit. You looked….” he finds himself stumbling on his words, the sense of flirting feeling unfamiliar, “gorgeous.”

 

Mingyu grins. His phone buzzes, and he glances down. “It’s my friend Jihoon,” he explains, typing out a quick message. “He wants me to help him with the music video he’s producing.”

 

Minghao looks down, and sees that Mingyu’s phone background is an adorable white dog with a long tongue and cartoonish eyes. “He’s adorable,” he says.

 

Mingyu’s face gets even cuter, which he didn’t think was possible. He squeezes his phone to his chest. “Aji is the best dog ever,” Mingyu says, “except he completely hates me.”

 

Minghao finds this difficult to believe. “He hates you?”

 

“Yes. I am his only mortal enemy.” Mingyu sighs with enough drama that he could moonlight as an actor. “He loves everyone else in my family, but every time I get within five feet of him he tries to run away from me. I’ve done everything. Once I bought him fancy dog treats, and he refused to eat them and threw them at my face. Another time I took him to the park and he ran into the woods.”

 

“That’s terrible,” Minghao says, but he’s laughing.

 

“I should go on one of those dog whisperer shows. Maybe they can solve my problem.” Mingyu grins.

 

The rest of the night passes in comfortable and casual conversation, about their families and careers and superhero movies. Minghao’s never felt so comfortable with someone before: he feels like they’ll never exhaust a conversation, the two of them. He wants to stay in this movement forever.

 

It gets darker outside, the lights dim, and people begin to leave in droves. Minghao checks his phone to realize it’s a few minutes past midnight. He has work tomorrow, and can’t stay up too late, unlike in university when him and Seokmin would be awake until the wee hours of the morning. “I probably need to get going,” he tells Mingyu apologetically.

 

Mingyu grabs his arm. “Wait,” he says. “I--I’ve had a great time talking to you tonight.” Minghao nods. “Can I get your phone number?”   
  


Minghao pauses for a moment, and nods. He hands Mingyu his cell phone, and they exchange numbers. When he looks at his phone contact again, Minghao realizes Mingyu has saved his name with no less than six heart emojis and the dog emoji.

 

“Thank you,” Minghao says.

 

Mingyu winks. “No problem.”

 

Minghao wants a thousand more evenings like this.

  
  


There’s a knock on his office door. The time on his computer reads 11:45 PM. The door swings open, and Yoona, the magazine’s photo director, is standing in the entryway, coat in hand.

 

Minghao looks up, feeling his eyes straining in the darkened light.

 

“Minghao, why are you still here?” Yoona says. “Go home, it’s late.” Minghao gestures towards the computer screen, where he’s been editing the first cover proofs. It’s nearly the end of June, and they’re running out of time. His deadline for the first cover draft is in three days. He can’t afford to screw this up.

 

“Working on the cover,” Minghao says, trying to keep his voice calm. Yoona gives him a sympathetic smile, and steps inside, her high heels clicking against the hardwood.

 

“Your first cover shoot,” she says. “I understand.”

 

Minghao’s already ruined this cover once, when he broke the camera. He can’t afford to present anything less than the best. Yoona examines the image, where the three models are staring at the camera, their cheeks dusted in glitter. “I’d fix the balance here,” she says. “It looks overexposed.”

 

Minghao nods. Yoona looks at him for another moment, and says, “Go home. It’ll be here in the morning.” With another goodbye, she steps outside. Minghao buries his head on his desk. He can’t fail. He can’t fail.

 

He manages to shut down his computer at midnight, and pulls on his coat. He steps into the darkened hallways, full of all those covers indicating his future failure, and onto the street. The streets of Seoul are abandoned. Minghao takes out his phone, feeling startled by the brightness of the screen, and realized he missed several messages while in his work-induced trance.

 

One stands out:

 

**Mingyu** : Hey, would you be willing to shoot together sometime?

 

Minghao finds himself, unexpectedly, grinning. He types back with shaking fingers, Of course.

  
  
  


“Coco, honestly,” Seokmin says, as his poodle runs towards the rose bushes for the ten thousandth time. “Can’t you at least pretend to behave?”

 

Minghao laughs. “I think he’s rebelling against you.” He does not think about Aji and how he always runs away from Mingyu. He does not think about Mingyu.

 

It’s early July, and summer in Seoul is here: the rain has been battering down the office windows for days, the humidity has reached its extreme, and Minghao is sweating through his shorts. (Sometimes you have to sacrifice designer fashion to you know, not die.) Seokmin had sent him a text, with multiple exclamation marks and the angry-faced emoji that said HAO YOU CAN’T KEEP AVOIDING ME EVEN IF YOU ARE A FANCY PHOTOGRAPHER, and Minghao missed his best friend.

 

So now they’re in the botanical gardens, walking Seokmin’s adorable dog, and Coco has decided today is the day to misbehave.

 

“So tell me about you,” Seokmin says. “I’m currently suffering at the hands of five-year-olds.” Summer vacation for Seoul public schools starts in two weeks. Minghao rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you just going on lots of field trips?”

 

“What kind of educator do you think I am?” Seokmin says, and Minghao bursts into laughter. “Maybe we’ve been watching more episodes of Pororo than necessary.”

 

“I’m glad you’re educating the future of Korea,” Minghao says. “Work has just been stress about the September issue.” Yesterday, they’d had a six-hour long meeting about which designers to highlight in the issue. There had been several mini-explosions.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Hao,” Seokmin says. “I can’t wait to buy 100 copies of this magazine and tell everyone my best friend was the cover photographer.”

 

“Shut up,” Minghao says.

“It’s true,” Seokmin says. “You’ve always been such an incredible photographer, and now you finally get the chance to shine.”

 

One more reason to add to his impending failure: everyone’s expectations. Minghao ignores this, and says, “It’s the biggest issue of the year, so everyone’s on Code Red. I might have a stress ulcer if I have to sit through any more meetings about font choices.”

 

Coco runs across the gardens, towards another cute brown poodle, and Minghao laughs as Seokmin drags him back. They keep walking, past roses and camellias and violets, and he says, “Do you remember that guy Jun was talking about at lunch?”

 

Seokmin’s eyes turn huge. All of his friends have Relationship Radar, or more specifically, when Perpetually Single Minghao Might Be In A Relationship Radar. “Kim Mingyu the model? Did he ask you out? Are you two in looooove?”

 

Minghao rolls his eyes. “No. But he did ask me to have a photoshoot with him.” They’ve planned for next weekend.

 

“That’s like, the model version of sexting,” Seokmin says. He splays his hand dramatically across his forehead. “Oh, would you like to shoot me and see how beautiful my body is?” Minghao shoves him.

 

“It’s not like that,” Minghao says. “I like him. He’s smart and funny and he’s so beautiful, but we also have so much in common. We both love fashion and red wine and hate peplum and”-- He stops, realizing that Seokmin is giving him a small smile.

 

“What?”

 

“You look happy,” Seokmin says. “I’m glad you’re happy.” His eyes are smiling.

 

“I really like him,” Minghao says. “I don’t know how to make the next step.”

 

“Tell him,” Seokmin says. “Do you think he feels the same way?” Minghao remembers Mingyu’s smile, and how he always laughs when they’re together. He remembers Mingyu asking him for his phone number, and suggesting a photoshoot, making the move and waiting for Minghao’s response.

 

“Yeah,” Minghao says.

 

“You two are going to be the world’s most attractive couple,” Seokmin says. “I can picture it already. So just tell him, Hao. If he doesn’t like you, it’s his loss, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Minghao says. “Thank you.”

 

“Anything for my best friend,” Seokmin says, and Minghao is so lucky. At this exact moment, Coco decides to break free of his leash, and both of them break off running before he creates more chaos.

 

Minghao has no idea what to expect from this photoshoot. Mingyu’s his friend, he knows that. They send each other random gifs on KakaoTalk and discuss fashion collections and everything and nothing, and Minghao’s never felt more comfortable with anyone else.

 

But a photoshoot is personal. A photoshoot is different. And he doesn’t know what the state of their relationship is. Minghao wants to kiss Mingyu, but he doesn’t know if Mingyu will kiss him back.

 

They’ve planned to have the photoshoot along the banks of the Hangang river. This time of year, the river is lined with red and white and pink peonies, and there’s a nearby bridge graffitied with murals perfect for photoshoots. Minghao steps off the subway, past the crowds of people. He can smell the scent of the river in the distance.

 

Five minutes later, he’s reached the entrance to Yanghwa Hangang Park, and the scent of flowers and the saltiness of the river is overwhelming. Minghao checks that he has all his supplies -- he’d prefer to avoid a repeat of the last disaster -- and steps through the entryway. He finds Mingyu standing against the bridge, scrolling through his phone, and allows himself a moment to stare.

 

Mingyu’s dressed in a pink-and-white striped shirt, and jeans that cling to his body. His jewelry is silver today, a charm bracelet dangling from his arm, sunglasses perched on top of his head. Minghao has a sudden, desperate moment, where he thinks,  _ I want to kiss you so badly. _

 

Instead, he walks towards Mingyu and waves. “Hey,” Mingyu says. “Where should we start?”

 

“Let’s start with the gardens,” Minghao says. He adjusts his camera settings for the bright, midafternoon light. “We’ll get some good pictures of you in the fields.” Mingyu grins, and his smile is so blinding and beautiful.

 

Mingyu is a natural model; he strides towards the flowers and shifts his head towards the sky. 

 

Minghao adjusts his camera settings, and starts taking rapid-fire photos, occasionally throwing out suggestions: “Turn to the right a little, please” --

 

Mingyu follows each one to the letter. He picks up a flower and says, “Let’s take a few flower boy photos.” So Minghao snaps another series of photos of Mingyu holding a camellia to his cheek, and tries not to think about kissing him.

 

“Can I see?” Mingyu asks. Minghao nods, turning around the lens. “Wow, that’s amazing,” he says. “You’re such a good photographer.”

 

“I don’t feel like one most days,” Minghao admits.

 

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

 

Minghao doesn’t admit this to other people. But he knows Mingyu will listen, and understand. “I feel like I have so much pressure on my photography. I’m always worried that it isn’t perfect enough, because everyone is always praising me.”

 

“About the cover?”

 

“Exactly,” Minghao says. “Being the youngest person to ever shoot the September issue just makes me anxious.”

 

“You’re an incredible artist,” Mingyu says. Minghao starts to protest, but he says, “No, seriously. I admired your work before our shoot. I like to know about the design team ahead of time. It’s gorgeous. The best advice I can give you is that you have to learn to love your art for itself, not because of other people’s expectations.”

 

Minghao looks down at the viewfinder. He immediately finds an error in the shot -- the sun is shadowing the left side of Mingyu’s face, and that will need to be edited. He looks at it again, and realizes: the composition is perfect and the difference between Mingyu and the flowers on both sides is symmetrical.

 

Mingyu’s right, he realizes. So Minghao lifts up his camera again and says, “Let’s go.”

 

Later, after they’ve frolicked through the roses, they photograph some shots in front of the bridge. Mingyu leans against the pillar, his sunglasses perched atop his head, smizing for the camera.

 

Minghao clicks through a series of shots in succession. He decides they need to be more close-up, and strides forward until his camera lens is inches from Mingyu’s face. His heart stops. He’s close enough now that he could touch Mingyu’s arm, or his chest, or drop his camera and lean in and--

 

Kiss him.

 

His body freezes. Mingyu stares at him for a long moment, and Minghao can feel the electricity. He knows how it would feel to kiss him, all the longing released. If Minghao was braver, if he wasn’t a coward, he would step forward and release.

 

He doesn’t. Instead, they stay trapped in amber, neither of them able to look away, until Minghao can’t take it anymore. He steps away, knowing his cheeks must be flaming red, and manages to squeak out, “Let’s move to another corner.”

 

Mingyu doesn’t look away. “Okay,” he says, and Minghao can feel the intensity of his gaze. He looks away.

 

There are approximately 30 days until the Vogue Korea September issue goes on sale. Minghao is definitely not panicking or stress-eating gummy bears at his desk. He tries to remember what Mingyu said, about loving his art outside of perfectionism.

 

He has lunch with Soonyoung and Jun and Seokmin and Wonwoo, who all want Mingyu Updates, helps Chan with his design portfolio, gossips with his coworkers, and tries to avoid the sinking pit of anxiety in his stomach. August is humid and dry, and Minghao feels wrung out.

 

He’s so afraid of failure.

 

“Okay,” Seungcheol says, standing at the front of the conference room. “Let’s talk about Fashion Week.”

 

Seoul Fashion Week, which is considered the biggest fashion event in East Asia, is in two weeks. It’s a chance for designers from across Korea to highlight their designs and spotlight the burgeoning Korean fashion industry, and to showcase the incredible streetwear in Seoul.

 

The goal of the event is to become as big as Paris and New York and London Fashion Weeks. This year, the event will be held in early September to showcase designers’ fall and winter collections.

 

“We need to divide the collections,” Seungcheol says, gesturing to the board, “and determine who will be attending which.” There are so many designers at Seoul Fashion Week that each year, different staff members are assigned to cover important collections, to make certain Vogue readers are given all-access.

 

Yoona looks up from her handwritten notes, a pencil dangling in her hair. “I’ll take Münn,” she says. “I have an in with Hyun Minsan-ssi.”

 

“Great,” Seungcheol says, “and Seulgi, I know you’d been interested in that collection.” Selugi glances up for a brief second from behind her Macbook to nod. “I’m also interested in Charms’ collection this year.”

 

They begin to divide the collections, writing each staff members’ name on a Post-It next to the event they’ll attend. “Hansollie,” Seungkwan says, “you’re going to be my partner, of course?” Hansol’s face is bright pink. “Yes,” he says, and Minghao smiles to himself.

 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan are paired together, which makes Jeonghan grin like the Cheshire cat, leaving Joshua and Minghao. “Hey, dude,” Joshua says, giving him a fist-bump. “We’ll be a good team.”

 

Seungcheol writes JOSH AND MINGHAO on a fluorescent pink Post-It, and tells them, “You two are going to The Sirius’ collection.”

 

Fashion Week is a blur of color and motion and energy: models striding down the street with practiced boredom, fashion editors and insiders yelling into their iPhones, the constant sound of clicking lenses, and attendees showing off their best streetwear fashions. The days tend to blend together during Fashion Week: attend one show, the lights go up, and you’re running across the street to another show. There’s never time to breathe because it’s all about being in the moment.

 

At night, there’s parties, populated by celebrities and sponsored by technology companies, that blur into patterns of flashing lights and bottomless champagne and Instagram photo ops. Minghao loves Fashion Week for the thrill and the drama and the excitement in the air, despite it being exhausting.

 

“Okay,” Joshua says. It’s the first day of Fashion Week, and they’re headed to the first show of the event, to see the collection for The Studio K. “Let’s go. It starts in ten minutes and we don't want to be late.”

 

“Hyung,” Chan says, “I’m so excited!” He’s practically bouncing down the street with energy. Minghao smiles. Chan’s internship ends at the magazine in a week and a half, but before he goes back to university he gets to tag along at Fashion Week.

 

“Calm down,” Minghao says. “We can’t have you fainting before the first show.”

 

Seoul Fashion Week is held in a series of event venues and hotels near the city center. The first show they’re attending is on the third floor of the Royal Seoul Hotel. They pass through the gathered crowds. The streets are tightly packed, with worldwide guests in town for Fashion Week.

 

Minghao can smell the scent of the market in the distance, and they pass groups of women in luxurious dresses being interviewed by reporters. Near the hotel a group of vendors are hawking knock-off designer goods for cheap prices, since some fashion designers won’t sell their wares in Korea. As they get closer, he recognizes familiar faces: Jessica Jung, the editor of CeCi, and her sister Krystal, who edits GQ Korea, chatting with the editor-in-chief of Dazed Korea, Joohyun.

 

He has a quick chat with Song Qian, a fashion photographer for Nylon, in rapid-fire Mandarin about their upcoming September issues. Then they step inside the darkened room, find their seats, and Fashion Week begins.

 

Fashion Week is always a blur: new location (fashion show), cut (a quick meal consisting of a sandwich and bottled water), new location (another fashion show), cut (discussions about the collections, half-whispered), cut, new location (a party held on a rooftop overlooking Gangnam).

 

Tonight’s party is on a rooftop with a perfect view of Seoul at night, and based on the obnoxious branding of all the champagne glasses, sponsored by Samsung. Parties are a chance for gossip fodder and strings being pulled and secret hookups. Minghao takes a glass of champagne. He checks his phone. Mingyu had texted earlier, to say that he wouldn’t be at the party due to his busy schedule this week. Early show, he’d explained.

Minghao shouldn’t miss him like a hollowing, but he does. Standing on this rooftop, surrounded by so many people laughing, he feels alone. He flutters between a few conversations, talks to Nayeon about her new makeup line and laughs with Eunbi, remembering their internship together before he went on to Vogue Korea and she became a designer for W magazine, and takes a few blurry selfies with Yugyeom, who’s debuting his first collection this season.

 

He manages to excuse himself to a hidden corner of the party, away from the noise. He wishes Mingyu was here. Behind him, Minghao hears someone laughing, and someone else reminding them to be quiet. The voices seem familiar for some reason.

 

He turns, and sees Seungkwan and Hansol standing behind a beaded curtain at the edge of the rooftop. Seungkwan is grinning, and Hansol’s face is flushed. He sees the two of them lean into each other. “Come on,” Seungkwan says.

 

“Are you sure?” Hansol says.

 

“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” Seungkwan says, and leans into kiss him. Then they’re kissing like nothing else in the world matters, their bodies curved into one another like parentheses. Minghao first feels a moment of success --  _ finally _ \-- and then feels like he’s invading on a private moment, and steps away. Minghao’s happy for them, he really is, but watching them kiss makes him more jealous than he cares to admit.

 

He wants that. He wants someone to kiss him like the stars will burn out and someone to be a companion. Minghao spends hours focused on his job, on his career, staying until midnight at the office. He wants someone to come home to laugh and drink red wine together. 

 

He wants a partner in life, someone to love and who loves him in return. Minghao sighs and watches the night sky. He drinks more champagne, and does not think about Mingyu.

  
  


“Okay,” Joshua says the next morning as they step into the Hotel Atrium. Today’s first show is The Sirius, the collection Seungcheol assigned their trio to report on. This collection is one of the best examples of forward-thinking menswear, and helmed by a charismatic designer named Youngchan Chung who attracted the attention of international editors after his first showcase last year.

 

The three of them find their seats on chairs that have been set up along the runway. The atrium is dimmed, with only a few flickering lights illuminating the cavernous space. All around them, people are busily setting up camera lenses and cracking open notebooks. Minghao adjusts his camera and takes a few practice shots of the runway.

 

“We’re focusing on the suits in this collection,” Joshua tells Chan and Minghao as they prepare themselves. “The readers are very interested in androgynous clothing this season, and these suits are considered menswear but the designer has called them gender-neutral.”

 

Chan nods, writing down each word in his spiral-bound notebook. The lights dim, pulsing R&B begins to play, and it’s showtime. Minghao makes quick work, taking shots of the elegantly dressed models who walk by in deconstructed suits missing sleeves and cut in asymmetrical lines.

 

The music shifts to a sensual piano ballad, and the lights shift to a faded purple. Minghao recognizes the model instantly: Mingyu, striding forward, beautiful as always. This must have been the show he mentioned last night, the one with an early call time. His outfit for this show is shades of white, a sleeveless top that accents his arms tucked into matching pants, and he carries a striped bag in one hand.

 

He’s so beautiful, Minghao can’t take his eyes off him. He snaps so many pictures, wanting to always capture this moment. When Mingyu finishes his procession, he turns around, and this time winks at Minghao as he passes by. It’s a secret moment, just between the two of them.

 

Minghao grins to himself.

 

After the show finishes, he manages to convince Chan and Josh that “I need to go backstage to take behind-the-scenes pictures, this is what our readers want” even though this is a complete lie in order to see Mingyu. They agree, and he pushes through the crush of people until he enters backstage, which is chaotic as usual.

 

Backstage at Fashion Week is controlled chaos: makeup artists wielding brushes in the air, models in half-finished states, last-minute tailorings, anxious creative directors watching from the sidelines. Minghao sees Mingyu sitting in a corner chair, stuffing his face with noodles.

 

“Hey,” he says, and Mingyu’s face brightens immediately. 

 

“Thank you so much for coming,” he says, and wraps Minghao in a hug. Minghao lets himself breathe in, lean his shoulder against Mingyu, tries to ignore the way that holding him feels like coming home.

 

“You did amazing,” Minghao says. 

 

Mingyu blushes. “Thank you. I don’t have another show until tomorrow, so now is my time to relax. There’s a beautiful rooftop deck here, if you’d like to join me.” Minghao has responsibilities, but he’d rather ignore them. He nods, and Mingyu leads him through a series of winding hallways and up a set of stairs until they reach the rooftop.

 

The rooftop is bare, and feels cavernous. From this view, they can see half of Seoul: the cars pulsing in the distance, the skyscrapers towering above, the hints of green in an urban city. Minghao takes out his camera, and says, “I want to take a picture of you here.”

 

Mingyu’s face blushes even brighter, but he agrees, and poses. He looks so ridiculous, arms crossed and staring into the distance (why, exactly, this is sexy, Minghao doesn’t understand) that Minghao starts laughing.

 

“Hey,” Mingyu says, “respect my craft!” He’s joking, however, and sends Minghao another private wink.

 

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says, composing himself and readjusting the shutter. Once he’s taken several photos of Mingyu smizing, he sets down his camera. He keeps thinking about failure, and taking risks. He needs to take a risk.

 

“I want to kiss you,” he says, laying his cards out on the table. Mingyu’s face looks brighter than he’s ever seen him before.

 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says. There’s a pause, where both of them try to decide who moves first, and then Mingyu crosses the rooftop in one fluid motion and cups his face. Minghao looks up, and as they bend their foreheads together, it’s like magic in motion.

 

Minghao never wants to let go of this moment, feeling Mingyu’s lips against his, feeling so completely at peace. They stay like that for a long moment, neither one wanting to let go, and when they break the kiss they both burst into laughter.

 

“Wow,” Minghao says.

 

“Wow?” Mingyu says. “Honestly, I was going to say, ‘holy shit.” Minghao laughs. He feels like he could run the world, and he feels so full of love. His phone starts buzzing, with incessant texts. 

 

He unlocks his phone to discover 12 unread messages. There’s frantic texts from Joshua, and Chan, and Seungkwan, and Yoona, all asking where he is in all-caps accompanied with angry emojis.

 

Shit. Minghao checks the time, and realizes he’s going to be late for their next schedule. He told Joshua and Chan he was going backstage, not headed to a rooftop to kiss the boy he’s been crushing on for months.

 

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says. “I--I need to go.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Mingyu says. “Just stay here for a little while longer.” He does his best sad puppy impression.

 

“I can’t,” Minghao says, “I’m already late to the next show, and”--

 

“Just stay here a little while longer,” Mingyu says. “We can just relax.”

 

“I can’t,” Minghao says again, his voice getting louder. “I can’t let down my coworkers. This is my job, okay? Did you really think I would give up my career just to kiss you?” He regrets the words the second after they come out of his mouth.

 

“Wow,” Mingyu says. “I’m glad that’s what you really think of me. I’m glad you prioritize your career over everything else.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says, too quickly, “I didn’t mean”--

 

“Oh, I know what you meant,” Mingyu says. His voice sounds dark. “At some point you’re going to have to decide if your career is worth giving up having an actual life.” 

 

Minghao feels like he’s been slapped, but Mingyu isn’t wrong. He spends hours worrying about work, and obsessing about failure, and stays until midnight to work on cover shoots. His best friend has to ask him to hang out.

 

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says, again, but apologies won’t be enough. Mingyu turns away, and he can see tears forming in his eyes. He hates this. He wants to kiss those tears away, but he’s already ruined everything.

 

“Just go,” Mingyu says, not even looking at him. Minghao nods. He picks up his camera and looks at Mingyu one last time -- beautiful, funny, charming Mingyu, who gave him confidence and so much love -- and walks away.

 

As he climbs down the stairs, Minghao feels shattered.

  
  


There’s a knock on his office door. Minghao looks up, bleary-eyed. He sleepwalked through the rest of Fashion Week, and has been barely sleeping since. He spends most of his time replaying what Mingyu said, over and over:  _ At some point you’re going to have to decide if your career is worth giving up having an actual life. _

 

“Congratulations,” Seungcheol says, swinging the door open. He hands Minghao a magazine. “The first September Issues, hot off the presses. Congratulations, Minghao. Thank you for all your hard work.”

 

Minghao stares down at the cover, the one he spent sleepless nights editing and color-correcting and removing tiny blemishes from. The final image they chose was the three models, dressed in navy with glitter dusting their cheeks, behind a background of stars.

 

Looking at the cover just makes Minghao feel empty.

 

“We’re so proud of you,” Seungcheol says, clapping him on the back. “You made us all proud.” Minghao should be thrilled at these compliments, thrilled to be finished with the biggest project (so far) in his career, but it feels so hollow.

 

“Anyway,” Seungcheol says, turning around with his usual flair, “we’ll see you at the all-staff this afternoon.” He turns and walks away. Minghao slams his head against the desk. 

 

He sighs and looks at the cover again. Mingyu looks so beautiful. He always looks so beautiful. On the cover, he’s gazing at the reader with furrowed eyes and a secretive smile. Minghao remembers the way it felt to kiss him. He runs his finger along magazine-Mingyu’s cheekbones, and sighs, because he can only see Mingyu’s tear-stained face, telling him, “Just get out.”

 

Minghao closes his eyes.

 

“Anyway,” Soonyoung says, far too loud for the tiny restaurant, “that’s why I think all frogs are innately evil.”

 

Minghao snorts into his glass. “Of course you do,” he says.

“Honestly, you should become a philosopher,” Seokmin says next to him. He bites into his 

jajangmyeon and says, “I can already see it: Kwon Soonyoung, PhD of Bullshit.” Wonwoo bursts out laughing, leaning into his boyfriend’s shoulder.

 

(Minghao ignores his jealousy.)

 

It’s another Sunday, the leaves outside are beginning to change as summer fades into fall, and the gang is back together. Minghao’s been trying to work on what Mingyu told him. He hasn’t stayed late at work in weeks, leaving at five p.m every day. He’s been trying not to obsess about work and failure so often, and take pictures just for himself. And of course, spend more time with his ridiculous friends.

 

The meal passes with easy conversation and uproarious laughter. Seokmin has hilarious stories from work, about 5-year-olds trying to cut their own hair with scissors, and Jun has equally funny stories about the dance students’ dangerous acrobatics. Soonyoung makes everyone laugh, and Wonwoo smiles at everything his boyfriend does. Minghao lets them tease him about Mingyu, ignoring the hole in his stomach at the sound of Mingyu’s name, and gives them copies of the September issue.

 

“This is amazing, Hao,” Seokmin says, wrapping him into a hug. “We’re so proud of you.” Minghao blushes and says, “Thank you.” He’s trying to feel more confident about his work, not sidestepping compliments anymore, either.

 

As they finish their meal and pay for the bill, the five of them head for the door. Minghao is about to leave, headed towards the subway, when someone taps him on the shoulder. It’s Jun, grinning.

 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” he says.

 

“Sure,” Minghao says, feeling confused. They wave goodbye to Seokmin and Soonyoung and Wonwoo, and find seats on a bench outside the restaurant. It’s nearly October, and fall is in the air. Minghao’s hair blows in the wind as they sit down.

 

“Is everything okay with you?” Jun says. “And no, Minghao, I don’t want any of this ‘I’m fine’ bullshit. I’ve known you way too long. And you looked so sad anytime someone mentioned Mingyu.”

 

Minghao sighs. He’d been planning on keeping this a secret, but Mingyu was right: he needs to tell someone about his fears of failure and not keep it inside anymore. Jun knows him better than anyone else: they’ve known each other since they were new foreigners in Korea, unable to speak the language or make friends. Jun is the one who hugged him at his high school graduation and said, “I’m so proud of you” in Mandarin, and the one who screamed when Minghao told him about the Vogue internship.

 

So he tells Jun the whole messy story, from the first day he met Mingyu and broke his camera to their final confrontation on the rooftop. Jun listens quietly, nodding at the important parts. When Minghao is finished, he says, “You really like him, don’t you?”

 

Minghao nods. He misses Mingyu like a hollowing. “I do.”

 

“I think you need to apologize,” Jun says. “You clearly hurt his feelings.”

 

“He probably hates me,” Minghao says, burying his face in his hands. “He’s not going to want to talk to me.”

 

Jun shakes his head. “Hao, if you really love him, you need to apologize. Maybe he won’t forgive you, but you need to say sorry.”

 

“I know,” Minghao says. He groans. “Love is stupid.”

 

Jun laughs. “Love is stupid. But love is also worth it, okay? Love is worth it in the end.” Minghao thinks about Seungkwan and Hansol, flirting for years and then colliding. He thinks about Soonyoung and Wonwoo, and how Soonyoung can always make Wonwoo smile. Jun is right.

 

“When did you get so wise?” he says, poking Jun in the stomach.

 

“I’ve always been wise,” Jun says dramatically. “You just never listened to my brilliant wisdom.” Minghao laughs, and then they’re laughing together. Minghao really does have the best friends in the universe.

  
  


**Minghao** : Hi, I was wondering if we could talk. We can do it in public, of course. I understand if you’re not interested.

 

**Mingyu** : Does next Monday at the Tea House in Myeongdong work? 4 o’clock?

 

**Minghao** : See you there.

 

Minghao arrives at the tea house early and finds a seat in the corner. His hands are shaking around his cup of green tea, and even the coffeehouse’s ambient orchestral music can't calm him down.

 

Maybe Mingyu won’t come. Maybe Mingyu hates him.

 

He checks the time, checks his phone to see meeting reminders on his calendar and encouraging texts from his friends. The clock creeps closer and closer to 4, and Mingyu isn’t here.

 

At precisely 4 o’clock, the bell above the coffeehouse door rings and Mingyu steps inside. He looks so beautiful, like he always does, dressed in a cream-colored sweater and black slacks. His eyes dart around the coffee shop for a moment, before landing on Minghao. Minghao sucks in a breath as Mingyu steps forward.

 

“Hi,” he says.

 

“Hi,” Mingyu says, pulling up a chair at Minghao’s table. He examines the menu. Minghao can’t stop staring at him, everything he missed: Mingyu’s freckles, his puppy-smile, how he dwarfs everyone else in this tea house by several inches.

 

The waitress arrives, and Mingyu orders green tea, and they’re left to their own silence.

 

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says. “I never should have implied that you were worth less than my career.”

 

“I need to apologize, too,” Mingyu says. Minghao interjects, but Mingyu raises a hand to stop him. “Fashion Week is obviously a huge time for your career, and I tried to tell you to ignore your responsibilities.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Minghao says, “So we were both wrong.”

 

Mingyu laughs, and the sound of his laughter sends lightning down Minghao’s spine. “So do we agree to forgive each other?”

 

“Yes,” Minghao says, laughing. “I forgive you.”

 

“That’s great, because I forgive you, too,” Mingyu says, and they’re grinning at each other with dopey smiles. The waitress returns at that moment with Mingyu’s order, and he takes a long sip of green tea.

 

“I really missed you,” Minghao says. “I really, really missed you.”

 

“Of course you did,” Mingyu says. “Who else are you going to debate fashion collections with? Or be your personal muse?” Minghao grins.

 

“What did you think of the collections from Fashion Week?” Minghao says. He takes a sip of tea.

 

“I love the androgynous styles,” Mingyu says, “because fashion is always so gendered.”

 

“I completely agree,” Minghao says, and then they’re off, debating which collections were the best and which were has-beens. It’s so comfortable, and Minghao wants a thousand more days like this.

 

They finish their tea, still talking, and head for the door. Minghao knows they’re friends again, but he doesn’t want to be just friends. He needs to take another risk, just like he did that first time, on the rooftop.

 

“Thank you for texting me,” Mingyu says as they step outside. Birds chirp in the distance, migrating somewhere warmer.

 

“Mingyu,” Minghao says. “I--I understand if you don’t want to be with me. But you’re my best friend, and my favorite person, and all I could think in there is that I want a thousand more days with you.”

 

Mingyu’s face becomes softer, and he says, “I want a thousand more days with you, too. Preferably with kissing.”

 

Minghao laughs, again, and he’s laughed more in an hour today than he has in the last month. This time, he’s the one who makes the move, striding forward on his tippy-toes and leaning in to kiss Mingyu.

 

This kiss is magic in motion, but better: because they’ve forgiven one another and come out the other side stronger.

 

Minghao understands why love is worth it, now.

 

“Okay, pose, yes, good job, turn a little” -- Minghao raises the camera upward. Mingyu follows his directions easily, leaning against the oak tree. It’s Saturday, and fall is in full motion, the October trees shining red and yellow and orange.

 

Mingyu had suggested they go take photos this weekend, and Minghao had agreed. So here they are, at Namsan Mountain, braving the cold and the wind to take grossly romantic pictures.

 

Things have been better, lately. Minghao introduced his boyfriend (calling Mingyu his  _ boyfriend  _ still makes him flutter) to his friends, who all appropriately interrogated Mingyu while telling him embarrassing stories about younger Minghao.

 

The September Issue sold well, breaking sales records for Vogue Korea, and Minghao’s been assigned to shoot the cover for December. After appearing in Seoul Fashion Week, Mingyu’s career is strong, and next week he flies to Hong Kong to shoot an editorial for British Vogue.

 

But what Minghao loves most of all are quiet, comfortable days with his boyfriend. They watch movies and cuddle, Mingyu screaming at all the scary parts; they argue about fashion and red wine and Minghao drags his boyfriend to art galleries downtown. It’s everything Minghao ever wanted.

 

“Okay,” Minghao says, changing the lenses. “How about a cute pose.”

 

Mingyu grins, and sticks his tongue out, and begins dancing in front of the tree.

 

“Hey, you’re ruining my shot,” Minghao complains.

 

Mingyu just grins and says, “I’m making your shot more exciting,” which makes Minghao laugh. And press the wrong button on his camera, overexposing the shot and ruining the white balance immediately.

 

“Stop making me laugh,” he says, “you just made me ruin my photo!” Mingyu just grins and sticks his tongue out again.

 

Minghao rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He angles his camera again, ready for the next perfect photo.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> All of the fashion brands/magazines/designers/models named in this fic are real. Mingyu’s two runway outfits are based off Supercomma B’s Fall 2017 collection and The-Sirius’ Spring 2017 collection, both of which were premiered at Seoul Fashion Week.
> 
> Thank you to M and B, who read drafts of this fic and told me to cut the boring parts. Thank you also to the Big Bang mods, for their patience, enthusiasm, and coordinating this event.
> 
> And to you: thank you for reading.


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